


A Hymn Is An Encore

by fissionchips



Category: Versailles no Bara | Rose of Versailles
Genre: Bad Poetry, Canon Compliant, Childhood Friends, Class Issues, F/M, Forbidden Love, French Revolution, Friendship/Love, Hurt No Comfort, Love Letters, Missing Scene, Mutual Pining, Nobility, Not A Fix-It, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Pining, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:09:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25228093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fissionchips/pseuds/fissionchips
Summary: She shared one last secret wish. Words came easy, like a song.
Relationships: André Grandier & Oscar François de Jarjayes, André Grandier/Oscar François de Jarjayes
Kudos: 10





	A Hymn Is An Encore

**Author's Note:**

> — First published in Shibui Zine

_Bravery is your banner,_  
_And I am, but a soldier,_  
_Solely devoted to your cause._  
  
_Hopeless, I'll wait-_  
  
He crossed the words and crumpled the paper sheet.  
  
It was only past eleven, Oscar had left less than two hours ago, all dressed up for the ball. Grand-mère did wonders with the gown.  
  
Oscar didn't need dresses and jewels to be her own kind of beautiful. She didn't need to be a princess for her noble soul to bless everyone around her.  
A mere commoner like him. He had nothing to offer. In this unkind world, his only comfort was that he will always make sure Oscar had her oldest friend beside her. A brother, a shield, a shadow, anything she'd need, he would be. Oscar never belittled him but he knew better. There was no bright future for a man without title or land.  
  
The fine wine tasted copper tonight. Sour, he gulped it down anyway.  
  
In the dim light, the discarded letter looked like a folded rose. If he had kept all his piss-poor attempts, he could have grown a whole garden for Oscar. How lovely a flower crown would look on her. He would be her Knight of Thorns and they would fight dragons and chimeras together. Childish fantasies like these kept him going.  
  
_Where are you now, my Oscar? Dancing the night away with uptight noblemen who will never get to see how you tame the wind on horseback? Oscar, I..._  
  
“Oscar”, she was the very first word he had learned to write. For the lost orphan he had been, she had been a saving grace, a healing psalm. For the meek man he had become, she was his personal heaven and hell. With all the privileges given by her birthright, Oscar still didn't get to command her own life. A rose encased in a coat of arms. All the choices she couldn't take, he will make them for her sake. Always.  
  
_Take my freedom, this soul,_  
_For they mean nothing_  
_If not in your capable hands._  
  
_Hopeful, I'll remain_  
  
Grand-mère told him to look out for the stars, for they would always bring him home. A dark laugh escaped his lips. There were no guiding stars for people like him, only fireflies that never survive the night.  
  
*******  
  
— En garde! she shouted, drawing her sword in a brief salute.  
  
She attacked first in a dazzling arrow. He barely had time for a circle parry, she saw through him instantly, lifting the tip of her sword at the very last moment. It grazed his ear. He stayed strong on his feet. If anything, he had his height and weight over her agility. She pulled back.  
  
— Are you even trying anymore, Monsieur Grandier? she teased.  
  
He lunged in retaliation. Their blades clashed in a jarring chorus. She knocked his weapon out of the way and he grabbed her wrist, riding the momentum. She yelped before jabbing her pommel in between his ribs. He fell hard in the grass not without taking her with him. They tumbled down the hill.  
One moment they were wrestling like drunkards, the next second, he was breathing in the sun.  
  
— André! Take your ha- big paws off me! IT TICKLES, she giggled, out of breath.  
  
They drank and dined under the orange trees. The thick chicken broth Grand-mère packed for them was the same comforting delight. Oscar shared between them the loaf of bread bought earlier at the open marketplace. Their arrival had all the villagers girls swooning over the regal colonel. Oscar swiftly shed off her military jacket, unwilling to attract further attention. With only their white undershirts and riding breeches on, they were nobodies. Nameless travelers, resting on the sidelines of life.  
  
So far from Versailles, Spring had come and set them free.  
  
*******  
  
A distant church bell rang the golden hour. Her hands wrapped around his hand. His scars pressed flush against her skin.  
  
— What's the matter, Oscar? Why are you crying?  
  
His deep voice was steady and caring as it had always been. Years ago, weeks ago, she would have avoided the question, would have denied the tears. Now, she didn't have anything to hide, didn't have to. She was but herself, bare, in front of a man who had defied all expectations.  
  
Salt and snot poured down her face, it didn't matter, he had seen worse from her, but still always thought the best of her.  
She shared one last secret wish. The one she wanted to keep a surprise, as a reward for their conjoined efforts, all the sacrifices. Words came easy, like a song.  
  
Once this civil war is over, once they'd win over André and its people's rights, when they'd finally stand equals in the eyes of the law; she will get to ask him one last selfish favor. André, sweet, enduring André, she could see his whole being light up at her broken speech. She'd never cease to paint their world in vivid colors if it was only to witness that genuine smile.  
  
"Do you remember the sunrise on Arras? I promise you, we'll live many more moments like this, we'll get to have more happiness like this."  
_We deserve it_ , she didn't say, fear twisting her hopes, their dreams.  
"André, we'll be grateful to be alive and every day, we'll make the most of having each other in this life."  
The small village, the tiny chapel, people freed from their chains. It will be all worth it in the end, she vowed.  
His hand was so warm between her shaky fingers. She didn't dare to blink her tears away.  
Silence settled between them.  
  
His eyes were still open and full of adoration. He wasn't looking at her but the rusty sky. A single spilled tear hadn't dried yet.  
She choked on his name.  
She heard Rosalie's gasp in the crowd. Everything else died in the blowing wind.  
  
"Mon André!" She cried high and loud, as loud as she could to cover the death knell. Raspy pleas 'til her voice turned hoarse and raw and the guards — their comrades — had to restrain her from tearing down her golden locks — “sun lace”, she remembered —.  
She wanted them all to know she was his like he was hers. How he had always been hers. Even when she has been a fool. Even when she had been blind. Even when he has been foolish. Even when he has been losing his sight, he never left her side. How could she ever walk away?  
She clung on to the bedsheets; she wished it could have been her veil.  
  
  
They laid him on a bed of wildflowers. She did what he did best, mounting guard all night in front of the altar.  
Eyes closed, they were back in her childhood backyard, they were back at the river banks.  
They were midnight roses, blooming long after dark.

**Author's Note:**

> Another note found in the lining of André Grandier's jacket:
> 
> _Cursed and blessed, they are,  
>  Blooming roses in glory,  
> Reigning for a week_
> 
> _Over a kingdom  
>  Fated to rise and fall, each day,  
> Anonymously_  
>    
> _Drenched in morning dew,_  
>  _Like tears on your cheek, Beloved,_  
>  _A gift from above._


End file.
